Carry On
by stonecoldfox
Summary: "Is it Real? Does it give too much away? Is pouring out my heart 'til you come back a reason to stay?" Tragedy pushes Hermione to the edge.
1. The Wheels Fall Off

TITLE: Carry On  
AUTHOR: Stonecoldfox  
DISCLAIMER: Everything you recognise belongs to The Woman Who was Magnificent, JK   
Rowling. EXCEPT the song Carry On, which belongs to Motor Ace.  
RATING: R, because there's a possibility that this will become pretty dark.  
Please Read and Review!  
*  
CARRY ON  
Looking for a single thread of melody  
To help me get by; were we passing the time?  
Is it real? Does it give too much away?  
Is pouring out my heart til you come back a reason to stay?  
  
Do you know, is this way home? Is this way home?  
  
We just stare while the wheels fall off  
But everyone seems to carry on, carry on  
No time to tell her how much we lost  
Cause everyone needs to carry on, carry on  
  
Looking for some words to say  
There's no familiar faces round here but the feeling's the same  
Is it real? Does it give too much away?  
Is pouring out my heart til you come back a reason to stay?  
  
We just stare while the wheels fall off  
But everyone seems to carry on, carry on  
No time to tell her how much we lost  
Cause everyone needs to carry on, carry on  
  
The places you know  
The friends that you owe  
Somewhere to go  
Does it pay to be alone?  
*  
There are some things that should never have to happen to a child. One of them is losing a parent.   
Another is war. It seemed that the fates were not smiling on Hermione Granger, for in her fifth,   
sixth, and seventh years, she was to experience both. In fact, on the Tuesday evening when the   
black ministry owl flew unnoticed into the Great Hall amid manic Post-War celebrations, she was   
to learn that both her mother and father had been killed by Death Eaters immediately prior to the   
cease-fire.  
  
Only two people saw the owl. One was sitting at the Gryffindor table drinking butterbeer quietly   
while her housemates laughed and pranced around on the dance floor. The other was sitting at the   
faculty table drinking fire-whisky quietly while his fellow professors laughed and pranced around   
on the dance floor.  
  
Both watched the owl swoop in towards the Gryffindor table. Both breathed in sharply when the   
black envelope it carried was dropped into Hermione's lap. Neither one moved for quite some   
time, until the Professor stood up and made his way down to her and stood beside her chair.  
  
"Do you want me to open it for you, Hermione?"  
  
No, she didn't. She could tear open the envelope herself. She could read the words sorry to   
inform you and Helen Granger and Richard Granger and deceased and please accept our   
condolences. She could feel his eyes on her as she carefully put the letter down next to her goblet   
and stood up to leave. She could push her chair in towards the table and walk quickly from the   
room.  
  
She could do all of that herself. And she did.  
  
But she wasn't to get very far, because once she was outside in the frosty November air, her tears   
had already clouded her vision and all she could see was a blur of white. She kept walking,   
though, for walking was travelling and she needed to get as far away as possible. Far away from   
what, she wasn't sure. Maybe from the black envelope that had just ruined her life. More likely   
from the deep voice yelling her name from somewhere behind her.  
  
But walking was travelling, that she knew. So Hermione travelled across the Hogwarts grounds,   
stumbling occasionally in the deep snow that had fallen for the last three days. Her hot tears froze   
midway down her cheeks.  
  
Finally she stopped. Not because she'd gotten where she wanted to be. Rather because of the very   
loud crack that had just sounded in her ears. Now what could that be, she faintly wondered before   
everything turned cold and black.  
*  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: The next chapter will be longer. Ten points to your house if you can guess   
what the crack was, and what just happened. Please review, I'd like to know whether or not I   
should continue this story. 


	2. Somewhere To Go

**DISCLAIMER: **Everything Hogwartian belongs to the one and only JKR. "Carry On" belongs to Motor Ace.__

The places you know 

_Friends that you owe_

_Somewhere to go_

_Does it pay to be alone?_

"I didn't see the lake in the dark," she told them. And they believed her without question.

Her skin was no longer blue but her hands continued to shake. It didn't make sense. The hypothermia had passed days ago. Her fever had long since broken. Still her hands shook.

She was alone in her Head Girl room, of course, as she had been for days. She wanted it that way. Her friends had gotten the hint eventually. When they visited her, she wasn't really there anyway. They'd bring her homework, which she thanked them for and then left untouched and ignored. They'd talk about quidditch and the House Cup and Hagrid's new creature and Trelawney the oversized insect. She'd smile and laugh and wince in all the right places. Then one of them, usually Ron but sometimes Harry, would accidentally mention an Unmentionable. Christmas, or parents, or the snow. Something they felt certain would make Hermione uncomfortable. More likely something that would make themselves feel uncomfortable. The offender would apologise a little too profusely, Hermione would insist that she was fine with it, and the conversation would proceed awkwardly until Hermione pretended to yawn and the boys gratefully excused themselves.

All in all, she preferred the solitude.

Nobody wanted her to come out anyway. None of her classmates knew what to say to her, or what not to say. Her teachers were just as bad. Professors Flitwick and Vector had visited her when she'd been in the hospital wing; the former burst into tears and the latter couldn't stop rambling about when his grandmother had passed away.

It wasn't as though death was an unusual thing at Hogwarts. There had been Cedric Diggory's demise in fourth year. In Hermione's fifth year, after the war had broken out, a sixth year Ravenclaw girl and a seventh year Slytherin girl were killed in Hogsmeade, as were seven other bystanders, when a group of drunk Death Eaters apparated into town for some weekend fun. After that, weekend trips to the village had been banned. The other deaths affecting those at the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were mostly relatives of students and teachers – grandparents, cousins, that sort of thing. Ernie Macmillan lost his 21-year-old brother. No, death was no stranger to those who lived in the Hogwarts castle.

But you see, this was different. For several reasons. One was that once the cease-fire was called, everybody believed the tragedy and heartbreak was over. Surely now that peace reigned again, things would have to go back to normal.

Another reason was the girl herself. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley had become heroes in the war years. They were seen as warriors, especially Harry. And nobody really believed that anything could happen to them. They had played such a part in the battle against Voldemort, and come out so triumphant, that people had begun to see them as invincible. Untouchable. Champions.

Ron loved it. Harry tolerated it.

Hermione despised it.

She didn't feel like a hero. And when the fighting was over and the celebrations began, she certainly didn't feel like dancing. Of course, she understood why her friends had to celebrate. They believed that after all the suffering and anguish, after three years of constant battle, life was going back to normal. It had to go back to normal, you see, because otherwise what were they fighting for?

Hermione knew better, though she wished she didn't.

And here it was, the proof of what she had known perfectly well on the night she had sat alone at the table with her butterbeer while her peers danced around her.

She was alone. Her parents were dead. And life would never be normal again.

In the halls at night there's a kind of peace that Hermione used to find intimidating. The quietness, to her, once represented a looming disaster – a professor lurking around the corner ready to take 50 points from Gryffindor for the person out of bed, or Peeves waiting to cause mayhem if you weren't on your guard.

No longer. These days, the midnight halls of Hogwarts welcomed her with open arms. The cold stone beneath her feet made her feel more alive than her warm, cocoon-like bedroom. She shivered in her thin white nightgown and ran her cold hands along the stone walls. She would do this all night, all around the castle, as she had for days.

Unwatched. Free. Alone.

Or not alone.

"Get back to bed."

She stopped – almost near the huge doors of the entrance hall – and turned around, coming face to face with Severus Snape standing only metres from her. Tall, dark and imposing.

His sallow face was stony and his arms were folded across his chest. His eyes wandered all over her face and she suddenly felt exposed. Her pale skin, her thin cheeks, the shadows beneath her eyes. She wanted him to look away, but the best she could do was to look away herself. She concentrated on a painting on the wall over his shoulder.

"I was just going…..." The fact was, she had no idea what to say. She knew where she was going, but the truth seemed highly inappropriate at this point.

"I know exactly where you were just going, Granger, and I'm telling you to get back to bed." He spoke in soft, slipped tones, but the warning tone in his voice was not lost on her.

"No, you don't," Hermione said hesitantly, testing the waters.

It struck her that he did, indeed, know exactly where she was going. After all, he was the one who had found her there two weeks earlier. He was the one who had pulled her from the icy depths of the lake with his own arms, using no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations, but his own sheer strength. He was the one who suggested to McGonagall that she be banned from going there, at least for the time being. McGonagall had agreed, but insisted that she only worried that the Hypothermia would return. She had, of course, approached Hermione – gently – about what had happened that night. Why she had walked onto the ice.

I didn't see the lake in the dark.

The answer was good enough for McGonagall. But not for Snape.

"Return to your room," his deep voice growled. He took a few slow, calculated steps toward her. "Now."

"Why?" Hermione challenged, finally looking him in the eye. "Afraid you're going to have to rescue my Gryffindor self again? Well, don't worry, there's nobody around to see you walk away. I won't tell."

The blow came quickly and fiercely and stung like hell. Hermione was caught by surprise and cried out. She so wanted to hold her cool hand against her cheek, but her pride wouldn't let her. She stood looking away from him for a long moment, catching her breath and telling herself she deserved it. Severus moved in towards her lowered his head until his mouth was mere inches from her ear. His hands grasped her upper arms gently – but firmly – and held them against the stone wall behind her. His voice was deep, soft and clear, but not without menace.

"The coming months will be the most difficult period in your young life. The death of your father and mother was unfair and untimely, and your behaviour is borne of grief and anger, I know. There are those who will coddle you, Miss Granger. They will put up with insolence, careless remarks, and even unsolicited cruelty. Do not mistake me for one of those people again."

He turned his head to look at her face, stilling pinning her arms to the wall. Hermione was biting her lip and mentally threatening to stab her own eyes out if the unshed tears they held began to fall in his presence. He stared at her for a long while, and eventually she realised he was waiting for an answer. She angled her head towards his and immediately wished she hadn't, for the black eyes that met her brown ones held an infuriating mixture of threat, insight and pity. Through the flood of tears that escaped her traitorous eyes, she managed to choke out the words, "Go to hell," before pulling free from his grasp and storming towards Gryffindor Tower.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, all the feedback I got was so supportive and it just made me want to write more! Please, if you've got a few spare moments, review this chapter, it keeps me going and I really appreciate the effort you guys make.

Ten points to Jamie and Hasapi, who guessed that it was the ice on the lake breaking! Yay! I'm glad that some people got it and some people didn't, because I wasn't sure if I was being too obvious or too obscure! Thanks again to everyone who reviewed!

Also, if anybody can tell me how to upload my chapters so that the format works, I would be so grateful. For some reason, the italics, centre alignment and line gaps that I used just didn't work, though I tried several times to fix it. I saved it as a text file, so maybe I should try html this time?


	3. Everyone Seems to Carry On

CARRY ON

Days passed and nights passed and days passed as if for the second time, because it seemed to Hermione that each day was the same as the one before it.

It had been three weeks since she'd received the Ministry's owl. The funeral had come and gone, and so had her relatives. They stayed just long enough to weep into their handkerchiefs and tell Hermione how awfully sorry they all were before climbing back into their BMWs and driving out of her life for good. Even her Aunt Vivian, who arranged the service and was Hermione's closest living relative (though "close" wasn't really the appropriate word, seeing as the funeral was the third time in her life Hermione had met the woman), seemed to disappear in a flurry of air kisses and promises of phone calls immediately after the wake. They left her alone in her house. It seemed they all thought of the precocious girl as an adult, for nobody bothered to ask whether or not she'd be alright in the house by herself.

For the first time in her life, Hermione felt like screaming "I'm not an adult! I'm just a little girl!" But nobody was there to listen. Even her best friends were absent, though at Hermione's insistence. They so badly wanted to be there for her ('And play the protective heroes,' she thought bitterly and unfairly), but she told them she'd rather they weren't. How she had regretted that stupidity as she sat on her staircase, contemplating the empty wine glasses and empty cheese trays and empty bedrooms that filled her house.

But it seems one can't stop time from steamrolling over everything, and that included Hermione's grief. Only three weeks on, it seemed that everyone expected – or desperately wanted – Hermione to become 'normal' again. To stop locking herself in her room for days at a time. To begin having real conversations, instead of barely stringing two sentences together when addressed. Harry, Ron and Ginny wanted the Old Hermione back. And Hermione tried to deliver. She really did try.

But there were some things she couldn't erase from her mind, and they simply would not leave her alone. One of them was the mind-numbing pain she had experienced on the night of the Ministry's owl, when she'd fallen through the ice and into the freezing water. She couldn't get that feeling, that cold dark shock, out of her head. It haunted her dreams and woke her in the night. She began to have cravings for coldness and darkness. Abdomen-gripping, hair-pulling cravings that no amount of cold showers should satiate. Being a person who'd always had an interest in Muggle psychology, this state of affairs both frightened and intrigued Hermione.

The other thing that wouldn't leave her head alone was the memory of the night she had met Severus Snape in the entrance hall. The look in his eyes just before she'd told him to go to hell. The strength in his arms as he'd held her against the wall. The humiliating way she'd fallen apart in front of him. The incredible guilt she felt every time she'd walked into his classroom since then. This was the man who'd saved her life. He'd reached into the freezing lake and pulled her out. Carried her to the castle. Brewed and administered several potions over the days that followed, when nobody was sure that Hermione was going to survive the hypothermia and shock. She'd discovered all this afterwards, through her discussions with Ron and Harry, and had been unable to hide her surprise.

Severus Snape saved her life. And she repaid him by telling him… God, she could hardly believe what she'd said. Of course he'd wanted to hit her for it. Who wouldn't? she thought.

These were the thoughts that ran through Hermione's mind late one mid-week evening as she made her way down to the dungeons.

*

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I know, I know. Not a whole lot of dialogue in this story yet. I promise that's changing as of the very next chapter. In fact, I think there might be QUITE a conversation. Please Read and Review! It's all very much appreciated. 


	4. Looking For Some Words to Say

"May I have a word, Professor?"

Hermione stood in the doorway of Severus Snape's office in plain black robes, for plain black was all she ever wore these days. The streak of red and gold pride she once possessed now seemed foreign to her, and as such her Gryffindor garb sat neglected on the floor of her wardrobe.

The weary professor glanced briefly in her direction before returning his attention to the unmarked essays on his desk.

"The hour is late, Miss Granger. If you must speak to me, you may do so after class tomorrow."

Hermione gritted her teeth. "Please, sir, if it's not too much trouble I'd prefer to speak with you now."

Snape scowled at her. "Yes, it is too much trouble," he spat fiercely. "Now kindly return to your chambers and I will deal with you tomorrow."

Hermione persisted. "If I don't speak with you immediately, Professor, I will have no sleep whatsoever and will therefore be barely able to speak tomorrow at all."

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your impertinence!" He snapped. Hermione was about to open her mouth with a few well-chosen words about unfairness and misinterpretation, but thought the better of it. Instead, there sat a long and uncomfortable silence in which neither looked at each other and both felt rather foolish. Eventually, Snape spoke again. "Very well! Speak your mind. Make it quick."

Hermione looked down at her hands. She was unsure, now, of exactly what it was she intended to say. What was she to say, after all, to the person who had saved her life and inflicted brutality on her in the same month?

"You hit me," she mumbled lamely. Why, oh why, had she chosen that particularly topic as an opening sentence?

"Yes, I did," Snape countered. His lips parted as if to say something else, but quickly closed again. He was going to let her assess the situation for herself, it seemed.

"It wasn't….. entirely uncalled for," she continued carefully. "What I said was unfair. You didn't deserve it."

"No, I didn't," Snape said slowly. "Nor did you deserve my reaction."

Hermione raised her eyes to study her Professor's face uncertainly. Was that an admission of….. Of what? Guilt?

His eyes seemed to flicker as they met her own. "I am not ordinarily in the habit of forgetting myself in such a manner. I apologise."

She nodded, staring at him thoughtfully. Logically, she realised it was her turn to speak, but her throat seemed to have suddenly dried out. She swallowed.

"Me too."

Snape nodded briskly and shuffled the papers on his desk, apparently ready to dismiss Hermione. "Very good.  Now that we've sorted that out, you will retire for the evening."

"Wait. I wasn't finished."

Snape exhaled loudly in what could have been construed as a sigh. He closed his eyes momentarily and absently ran a hand through his long black hair. It seemed that he was carefully considering her statement as though it was a request for an extended conversation; but Hermione didn't mean it as a request. She sat down on the chair in front of his desk before he had even opened his eyes. When he did open them, they narrowed as he glared at her.

"By all means, Miss Granger," he said, his voice oozing sarcasm. "Make yourself at home."

She chose to ignore the tone in his voice and remained seated, her hands folded in her lap. "You must think me terribly bad-mannered."

"After seven years, one would think that was painfully obvious."

"I didn't mean in general. I was talking about you saving my life. I still haven't thanked you."

"I don't wish to speak of that night. You may consider me well and truly thanked if you leave this room immediately and never speak of it to me again."

Hermione was only slightly taken aback. "What do you mean? Why don't you want to talk about it? You saved my life!"

"Did I not just say –"

"Yes, you did say, and I'd like to know why."

"Because if we have this discussion, Miss Granger, I am certain to say something we shall both regret!" he snapped. Hermione suddenly knew exactly what he'd meant. It was the same reason he had stopped her from going outside in the snow on the night they had met in the entrance hall. The same reason why he had advised Professor McGonagall to ban Hermione from going to the lake. He still did not believe that what he had rescued her from was an accident.

It occurred to Hermione that she did not want to have this discussion with him, either. They were both very quiet for a long time. When Snape spoke up, it was in muted tones with his eyes on the desk in front of him.

"Of course," he said very quietly. "You know it is a conversation we must, eventually, have. When the moment calls for it."

Hermione said nothing, gave no sign that she had even heard him. It seemed he took that as an affirmative answer, for he promptly changed the subject.

"What will you do now?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, though she knew exactly what he meant.

"What will you do now that your parents have gone?"

Hermione shrugged nonchalantly, though it was obvious that her indifference was faked. "Not sure. I'll think of something."

Snape's brow furrowed, as it was wont to do when he was irritated. "Then the arrangements have not been made? That's rather careless." She shot him an offended look, and he amended his words. "I mean that it's careless of Dumbledore."

"Why should it be the Headmaster's responsibility? He has a school to administrate. There are hundreds of students who rely on him."

"Yes, and the last I heard you were one of them," Severus pointed out dryly. "McGonagall's just as bad. If you were in Slytherin –" Hermione shuddered ever-so-slightly – "there would be no loose ends. Your interests would have been taken care of by now."

"It's not their fault. A war doesn't end when the cease-fire is called. There's much to be seen to. My situation will be dealt with eventually," Hermione finished with a kind of resignation that Snape found infuriating. He held his tongue.

"I assume you have relatives to go to?"

"I have relatives," she replied. "I will not go to them." He stared at her intensely for a moment before replying.

"Are they cruel to you?" The question surprised Hermione, especially coming from the man who had done his utmost to make her life, and the lives of her two best friends, miserable for the majority of their school years.

"No. Not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

Hermione chose her words carefully. "We don't see eye to eye. For many reasons."

"I see," Snape said slowly. He did not push further. Not with words, anyway. But Hermione could only bear his eyes burning into her like that for so long.

"During my fifth year I made the mistake of telling my cousin Samantha about Hogwarts," she said simply. She was going to continue with that story, but Snape seemed to understand immediately and so she did not. After all, some memories were best left unearthed. "But it goes back further. Much further. Before I was born. And after."

She knew she was rambling. She knew she should stop. But she didn't.

"Besides, apparently I'm old enough to take care of myself. I'm certainly old enough to arrange a funeral by myself. Aunt Vivian seemed to forget I wasn't old enough to buy liquor until she noticed the lack of wine at my parents' wake and realised she'd have to get it herself. Of course, after a few glasses she'd forgotten again. I told her not to drive after all the alcohol she'd drunk, told her she'd probably have a crash and die, but she left anyway. Maybe she did die after she drove away; she might have and I wouldn't know because apparently I'm too old for letters or phone calls."

Hermione stopped talking then, for she realised she'd said too much. Snape gave away nothing, for he was still staring at her in the same manner he'd been staring at her before her little rant. But she wished she'd stopped talking much earlier.

"It doesn't matter anyway; I attend a boarding school for heaven's sake. Harry spends his Christmases at Hogwarts, I don't see why I shouldn't. And by the time graduation arrives, there will only be three and a half months until I turn eighteen anyway. And then I really will be old enough."

"Old enough for what?"

"Old enough to do without parents," she said without thinking, and immediately regretted it. Snape raised one eyebrow as if to further point out the absurdity of her comment. "I didn't mean that."

"I know."

Hermione nodded, glad that she didn't have to explain herself. In the few silent seconds that followed Hermione considered what was happening. Her thoughts were laced with no small amount of disbelief. Was she actually having a conversation with Snape? Was he actually being civil to her? Was she really pouring out her soul for him to do with whatever he wished? This was the strangest situation she'd found herself in for quite some time, but Hermione found that, oddly enough, she didn't hate it.

Snape seemed to think about his next words before deciding to say them aloud.

"You are burdened and blessed with a maturity and intelligence beyond your years, Miss Granger," he said shortly, as though the mere utterance of such words troubled him beyond the telling of it. Hermione was too shocked at the compliment to even blush. "You appear to have a firm grasp of things which go beyond the comprehension of most students here. I am not speaking of the things you learn in your classes, but things much bigger than that, much bigger than Hogwarts. Even your cohorts, Potter and Weasley, don't truly understand what is happening. You know, of course, that I am speaking of war. The end of the war. And you know, as you knew on the night of the celebrations (even before your owl arrived) that the war is not truly over. That it will never really be over until all who are affected by it cease to exist. That's why you could not celebrate with the others. You carry the weight of awareness and insight on your shoulders, and that is a heavy load indeed."

Half of Hermione wished he would stop talking – trust Snape to bring her meticulously repressed anguish to the surface – and half of her was elated that her feelings were finally able to be expressed (despite the fact that it was somebody else's expression). Though his voice was dispassionate and his eyes never lost their cold clarity, Hermione could feel that not only did Snape mean every word he said, but that he was speaking from experience.

"Add to that the loss of the only two people in this world who truly loved you unconditionally, on whom you could unquestionably depend, and your life is thrown into disarray. Especially compared to the lives of the people around you, who seem to have forgotten there ever was a war in the midst of the euphoria they feel for its conclusion. Even your closest friends appear to go on as if everything is the same as it was. I've seen you in my class. You look at them the same way one would look at the remnants of one's childhood; at some floppy-eared toy you wish you could still play with."

"They're still my friends," Hermione protested feebly.

"I never said they weren't, Hermione. I only said you cannot play with them anymore," Snape said his last words as though he simply forbade it, though Hermione wasn't sure that was how he meant it. In fact, she felt – for the first time in weeks – as though someone was finally on the same page as she.

"When did I stop being the person I used to be?" she asked, but she wasn't really expecting an answer and he didn't offer one. Instead, they brooded simultaneously for a long time, before Snape finally came to his senses and noticed the time.

"It is almost three o'clock in the morning, Miss Granger. I suggest you try to get what small amount of sleep you can before breakfast."

Hermione stood up but didn't leave straight away. "Can I come back?" she asked, before she could stop herself. Snape looked up in surprise. It seemed no one had ever expressed such a wish before. Hermione understood his hesitation and tried to explain herself. "I talk to Harry and Ron all the time. And Ginny. And Hagrid. Numerous times every day. I can't remember a single thing they've said to me in the last three weeks but I've already memorized the conversation we just had. That's not the natural order of things, is it?"

"It wouldn't seem so."

"I just need someone to talk to," she admitted shyly.

Snape stared at her blankly. She turned to leave.

"Tuesday evening after dinner. Make your excuses and make your way to my office. If you are even five minutes late I will leave."

She nodded, pushed open the door and ran from the dungeons to the Gryffindor common room before Filch or Peeves could catch her.


End file.
